


Sensory Stimuli

by Merfilly



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Fluff, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-29
Updated: 2007-12-29
Packaged: 2017-12-25 00:23:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/946463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merfilly/pseuds/Merfilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Several ficlets built around the five senses on request</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sensory Stimuli

**Diana, Rain hitting pavement**

She had come during the day, wearing jeans and a blouse, her hair pulled back loosely, a pair of sunglasses on.

Amazing what putting something over your eyes did for increasing your ability to walk anonymously.

She wanted to hear the reactions, wanted to know just where she and the others stood.

The crowds were full of natives, of tourists, of the political posturers and demonstrators.

The announcement had gone out that very morning, televised and broadcast around the world. It was official…the Justice League was up and running once more, their headquarters right in the heart of the American capitol.

She wondered if they should have waited for a day less gray and foreboding, or if it was her pessimism rearing its ugly head.

The few comments she had overheard so far were not favorable. A good bit of the nation still feared the power of the League, suspected the superbeings with all their might.

Choosing a name and face they knew, who had never led before, had done little to assuage that foreboding.

Diana was slowly becoming disenchanted with her hope that all could be well again, when she heard it.

"They'll show us how to be good again."

The words came from a child, maybe eight years old, and were spoken to another child of perhaps five years.

The faith was complete, beautiful, and achingly strong.

After hearing that, even the first splash of the clouds giving their bounty to the city could not dim her renewed hope.

She knew now. It was example humans looked to. And, for the last year and a half, that example had bred the doubts she had heard voiced earlier.

Like the child had said, they needed to teach good again.

* * *

**Lian, Jasmine**

It had been a very long time since Aunt Dinah had kept Lian. The girl did not even remember the times from so long ago, when Aunt Dinah had been the owner of a florist's shop. 

She would never forget, not now that she had been allowed to be there, all day, and just see and smell the flowers. Now she understood why Aunt Dinah always smelled good.

She even had a favorite flower now. It was one of the scents that always came in with Aunt Dinah, when she didn't smell like her costume and bike.

The child stared at the small flowers, breathing in their aroma. Their very pale pink color showed up nicely against her hair, Aunt Dinah said, having made her a woven garland for her to wear.

Lian hoped her daddy liked it. Maybe if he did, Aunt Dinah would teach her how to take care of a whole jasmine plant.

Then she'd always have the smell, to remind her of the woman she loved.

* * *

**Barbara Gordon, Windchimes**

She's gotten used to the way the sun catches on the brightly colored beads in the dream catcher some well-meaning teacher encouraged Lian to make. Dinah has told her the story of Roy taking her to the reservation to learn Navajo crafts instead of the mass-marketed version of a Chippewa one.

Dinah had giggled a lot through that story.

What she still rouses to are the various wind chimes through the small get away cabin. Every breeze seems to catch a portion of them, making them intone various sounds that she just could not tune out.

Each of them had a story. 

Just like Dinah. Barbara nestled into her lover's arms, letting the bamboo tones take precedence in her awareness, thinking about all the stories Dinah had shared so far.

They had a lifetime to keep sharing them…and making more.

* * *

**Hal, Red**

Abin Sur's skin…Sinestro's even more so.

Barry's costume. 

Roy's hair.

Clark's cape.

The blood of his city.

The blood of his former friends.

When it all boiled down in the end…there were two shades of red that meant hope and redemption, to wipe out all the horrors seen and committed.

Barry's red, which symbolized everything good he could hope to be…and Roy's, showing him the power of forgiveness and second chances.

The rest of the shades meant nothing but memory.

* * *

 **Isis, Sweet** >

She had stared at him defiantly, had refused to be the bribe they wished her to be.

She had touched him, within, and shown him what he lacked.

He had tried to give her the life she deserved, sharing the joy he came to know with her in all things.

The thing he had loved most, was the convincing her to try a date, offered from his own fingers, and seeing her give him that trust and love he wanted to share with her for life.

The bliss on her face at its sweetness was a memory Teth would cherish for eternity.

* * *

**Dick, Sour**

He was sweating it out, pushing his body far beyond exhaustion, to a point where his mind had to stop.

The taste of defeat still lingered. Its bitterness was a heavy taste in his mouth, sour as the sweat pouring off of him.

Try as hard as he could, he could not forget what had happened, that he had failed.

He had let his team down, there were two more statues…and a gaping hole where his soul had once been.

It was time for him to push away, to stop playing kid games, before he got more of his family dead.

* * *

**Clark, garden in spring bloom**

He could appreciate the rich foliage, the fragrant blooms, all the brilliant colors. This garden was a delight to his sense of sight and his sense of smell, one he could find peace in easily enough.

But there was one thing here that outweighed the pleasure of the spring viewing more than any other. It was the young man who was following him on a day at work, full of more energy and life than anything Clark had ever known.

Of all the beauties brought by spring, none were so wondrous as Dick Grayson. Clark would savor that far longer than the graces of the garden.

* * *

**Tim, Rose Petals (touch)**

He could not see. There was nothing but the cool kiss of air against his skin, the soft sound of breathing nearby, and the tingling anticipation in his groin.

He listened as the air was parted by his 'captor', fought the urge to try and resist the bindings holding his arms up above his head, and shivered with the effect she had created.

She had said 'trust me' and he had….

When the merest caress of soft, pliant rose petals along his chest made him mew, he decided he liked the youngest Wilson's ideas on team building.


End file.
